Drunken Tales and TwoToned Eyes
by SacredAir
Summary: He's seen her cry before - seen how she rapidly she'd turned away and had swallowed down her sadness before it had spilled out in a tearful mess. He's witnessing something intensely private. Deeks/Kensi, Post Season 2.


**AN: Back with another Deeks/Kensi one-shot. I had been hoping to update sooner, but real-life has been extremely emotional and hard recently so I haven´t been able to!**

**There are references to two songs in this fic 'Unbelievable' by EMT, and 'Blue Eyes' by Elton John. Drunk!Kensi has a varied music taste...it seems, haha.**

**Also, the story she tells about her dad is a somewhat edited version of something my dad and I did when I was sick once.**

**But yes! I hope you enjoy the story, and I appreciate all reviews I recieve :) Please let me know how you found it!**

'What…what. What. Whyyy?'

It's been a while since he's had to play the role of designated driver for an inebriated friend. Truth be told, it's not because he's keen on drinking – quite the opposite really. Having grown up in a home where an alcoholic father had made him a prisoner, he'd seen what drink can do to a man and has sworn to himself that he's never going to end up with such a nasty, violent dependency. The mere possiblilty of losing control scares the shit out of him, so although he enjoys a couple of beers at times, he prefers to be the one looking after others in their time of need – otherwise known as their 'I'm So Drunk I Can't Walk' moments.

Deeks laughs at the woman slouching in the car seat next to him, and gives her a wry grin. 'I'm never gonna let you live this down, you know.'

Kensi Blye was officially plastered.

It's really cute, because she's all smiles and giggles and touchy-feely, but for the time being he's more concerned about the fact that the owner of some shady bar phoned him up from his partner's phone at oh-my-god o'clock in the morning telling him he's closing the place up for the night and she's so drunk she can barely talk, let alone drive back home.

He'd been surprised, because they'd all gone out together for a couple of hours and after a couple of drinks they'd each gone their separate ways, all of them with the (apparent) intention of heading home. Kensi had been calmer than usual – he's not sure why, but something about her had been 'off' all week – she'd not tried to win any arguments, her voice had softer and quieter. There'd been a lack of punches to the arm and witty comebacks; less sugar consumed and a lack of impulsiveness that was decidedly un-Kensi-like. That in itself had been a concern in the first place, and although at first he'd wondered if he was imagining things (because when it comes to Kensi, he can't help but think and over-analyse absolutely everything) but when she'd coldly shrugged off his gentle questioning he'd realized he had been right to be concerned.

They'd ended their night out at a local club only a few blocks away from Callen's place, and the two senior partners had bid them goodbye not long after ten, joking they were getting too old for wild nights regardless of it being a Friday. Him and Kensi had lingered at the club a while longer, drifting in between companionable silences, swaying to the music and polite conversation that skirted around whatever problematic topic she was reluctant to talk about. After a year of working together, he knows if she's pushed to talk she'll push back twice as hard, so he'd fought the urge to ask her what was wrong for the umpteenth time. Finally, she'd given him a sad smile, hand wrapping around his shoulder and squeezing it, before saying she was heading home as well.

He'd followed suit, arriving at his apartment shortly after midnight and falling asleep soon after. Hitting two birds with one stone was always a gratifying sensation – they'd solved a case and, asides from paperwork, there were no pressing problems to be dealt with over the weekend. Forty eight hours of surfing, eating and sleeping awaited. Forty eight hours of worrying about _her – _of fighting the urge to grab the car and keep watch outside her house all night just to make sure she doesn't need anything (yeah, because that's not stalker-like behaviour).

When he'd received the call he'd practically launched himself at the phone, coils of tension making him sleepless and jumpy, and he had all but speeded to the bar to pick his partner up.

She'd been seconds from falling off her barstool when he'd entered the building, so he'd awkwardly rushed to her side to prevent her from falling on her butt and embarrassing herself further. The bartender gave him a sour look, and Deeks had passed him thirty dollars as a Thank You and as a peace-offering, before wrapping an arm around Kensi and hauling her out of the bar, ignoring her bleats of protest.

Now, they're in his car, with the air-con on, because she's feeling real dizzy, and he knows it's probably in both their interests to keep her still for a few minutes.

'I'm not even that _baaadd,_' she moans, pretending to start crying. Although his worry is still present, he has to turn his head towards the window to stop himself from laughing in her face at her child-like display of behaviour. The only way to deal with this was to play along, he knew.

'I know you're not, Sweet, but the guy wanted to close for the night.'

'Can't you arrest him-mm? For obstructing the enjoyment of government angel-an-agents?'

The look on her face is mournful, she's pouting and leaning in towards him which is sort of dangerous, because this is just the sort of face that makes him want to kiss her.

(Well, he wants to kiss her all the time, but he's so not gonna go there right now.)

He settles for the usual defense mechanism joke that either pisses people of, irritates people or makes people groan in frustration. 'Angels? You totally just said angels – I mean, I know _I'm_ hot, but I can't exactly say the same for all other 'government' employees.'

He receives a groan in reply.

'Okay, giving you some credit there because you've obviously sober enough to respond to that in your usual style-'

'Nope,' she lurches forward to open the door and jumps out, bolting away from the car. He winces, heart-strings twisting painfully as he hears her throwing up, and gets out quickly to offer her a helping hand. Obviously, the groaning wasn't to do with his silly humor.

When he reaches her side, she's crouching down, gripping the side of the car as if her life depends on it. Stepping behind her, he sighs as he holds her hair back, running his fingers across her scalp in what he hopes is a comforting action. When she's done, he helps her up, and her shaky hands wrapping around his forearm, essentially tucking herself into him in an awkward hug. The action is so unexpected that for a minute he forgets what he's there for and presses a small kiss to the top of her head.

'Feeling better?'

'I'm still a little tipsy, but I'm no longer gonna puke,' she slurs.

'Figures. Looks like you chucked up an entire Chuck. E. Cheese menu-'

'Actually shut up now unless or I _will _throw up all over your jacket.'

'Shutting up.' Moving them towards the passenger seat, he opens the door and attempts to bundle her inside. It takes a few minutes to get her buckled in again because she keeps pawing at his hands and telling him she's old enough to do it herself. At one point she starts ruffling his hair so violently he thinks his head is going to be ripped off, and he pulls away quickly.

'What are you doing?'

Her eyebrows are raised in surprise – she looks as stunned as if he's asked her if fish know how to swim. 'I never had a dog when I was younger.'

He chuckles, rolling his neck to make sure there isn't any lasting damage. ' I'm your dog now?'

'You're my _dog_, you're my _biiitch_,' she sing-songs loudly.

'You're so blitzed, right now, it's unbelievable.'

'_The things you saaaay, dun, dun ,DUN – you're unbelievable_!' she continues singing – rather badly, he has to admit, as he shuts her door and gets in the drivers side.

'EMF? Really?'

Starting up the engine, he makes sure she's sitting relatively still before pulling out of the parking slot, taking the quickest route to her house. The sound of the window lowering causes him to glance sideways at his partner – she's sitting forward, eyes closed, elegant profile turned towards the slight breeze that was ruffling her curls.

(Trust Kensi to be beautiful even in this state.)

He swears he narrowly misses totaling the car when he feels a slender hand sliding up his thigh, and he fights hard not to react. Touchy-feely has obviously turned into affectionate-bordering-on-inappropriate groping (which he'd be quite okay with under different circumstances). Clearing his throat, he gently reaches down to take her hand in his, only for her to move towards him and rest her head on his shoulder, her lips brushing his ear.

'You're unbelievable,' she hums, settling against him. And it's impossible to resist the impulse to kiss her forehead, so, when they stop at a red light, he does just that.

Within seconds, she's fallen asleep.

Getting Kensi from the car to her house isn't as bad as it could have been. For one, she's awake now, which means that he doesn't have to carry her, complete with handbag and seriously pointy high-heels, to the front door. However, she's sobered up enough to believe she's capable of looking after herself, but still drunk enough to perform an unintentional acrobatic twirl as she steps out of the car.

Deeks watches in horror and amusement as her flailing arms try and find something to grab onto before she falls head-first, and rushes over to help her up.

'Smooth, Kens,' he pats her head and tilts her face towards the street-light so that he can check she hasn't hurt herself.

She puckers her lips, looking annoyed, and opens her mis-matched eyes wide to accentuate her next statement. '_A-c-t-_ually, that could have happened to _anyone_.'

'After one or ten drinks, perhaps,' he teases.

They spent another ten minutes sitting on the steps of her porch examining the contents of her bag, unable to find her house keys. She's surprisingly calm about the potentially major problem, until suddenly she starts yelling in surprise.

'Oh, Oh! Wait!' she rummages in her jacket pocket and grins excitedly at him as she pulls the keys out. 'I _knew _they weren't in my bag! I always carry them in my pockets when I'm alone so that I can stab people if they try and kill me!'

He shakes his head at her incredulously. 'You're telling me I just spent ten minutes of my life looking through your purse to find some keys you had on you all along?' he waggles his eyebrows and winks, 'is this some kind of plan to get me to spend more time with you?'

She attempts to push him over in response, and staggers over to the door to let herself in. Unfortunately, her hand-eye co-ordination is practically non-existent, so she gives up pretty quickly, stamping her foot petulantly on the floor as he takes the keys from her and lets them in.

It's not the first time he's been to her house, but it's the first time he's seen it this neat – the nail-varnish remover that usually lives on the small table in the centre of the lounge has disappeared along with her tool-box and the massive stack of books that had – according to Kensi – been on her reading list. In fact, for the first time ever, the table can actually be seen. Blankets rest neatly on the back of the couch and her trainers sit neatly by the door, and the DVD's on her shelf are organized in alphabetical order. He frowns, wondering what had produced such a big change in her life that she'd felt the need to re-organise her entire living space.

His thoughts are interrupted as the woman in question practically charges at the sofa and lands on it with a flop, sighing in contentment as she reaches for the remote-control and turns on the television.

'Oh, no,' he takes the remote from her, and pulls her up into a sitting position. 'You're gonna have some water and some Tylenol and go straight to bed.'

He hears her grumbling as he heads to her kitchen to find the pain-killers and a glass of water, and frowns as he sees the impeccable – empty – surfaces. It's so uncharacteristic that it's starting to creep him out so he hurries back into the living room with the water and the pills, finding her sitting and staring in to space in the exact position he left her in.

'Here you go,' he hands her the glass. 'M'gonna take your shoes off – that okay?'

'S'fine.'

He feels her eyes on him as he unstraps the heels and slides them off, gripping her ankle gently. Her toe-nails are painted black, and he admires them for a minute before snapping to his senses and sitting back up. (His partner thinking he has some sort of foot fetish wasn't a problem he particularly wanted to deal with. Ever.)

'How are you feeling?'

She starts to crack up as if he's just told the world's most hilarious joke, and he winces.

'Oh man, you're gonna be one unhappy Kensi when you wake up tomorrow.'

She sips her water in silence, and when he turns to look at her, he finds those captivating eyes staring back at him from under long lashes, hints of sadness and something he can't quite place swirling in the depths of hazel and brown. And for a minute, he focuses solely on the sadness, and the layers of everything else slip down, until all he can see in front of him is a distressed, lost little child who sits quietly keeping to herself, waiting for someone to check on her, her emotions a mess and her defenses raised so high that they appear never ending.

'Hey,' he cups her cheek, running the pad of his thumb over tanned skin. 'Tell me what's wrong?'

She smiles at him, not one of those dazzling grins that often leaves him slightly breathless, something more tender. Their faces are mere inches apart – he can smell the alcohol lingering on her breath and the fruity smell of her shampoo. Large eyes bore into his, her bewitching gaze lulling him into a state where he almost can't control himself and he starts to lean forward to kiss her-

'Your eyes are so blue, Deeks.'

He smiles sheepishly, mentally kicking himself for almost being a dick and taking advantage of her in an inebriated state. 'S'right, princess, as blue as the sky on a hot summer's day.'

She grabs his face in both hands, examining his irises closer.

Any traces of vulnerability have disappeared completely, and now her face is set into a determined frown. He thinks she looks like a five-year-old inventing a cunning plan to steal from a cookie jar.

'Nah. When you're happy, they're sky-blue. But when you're sad – or angry…or aroused… they're darker. More like the sea.'

He nods seriously, once again playing along with this child-woman.

'_Baby's got blue eyes, like a deep blue seaaa, on a blue, blue day,_' she sings loudly, and he can't help but laugh at her tone-deaf version of Elton John's song.

'What the hell did you smoke tonight?' he jokes, 'because I'm starting to wonder if you're stoned as well as pissed-'

'Are you angry at me?' she cuts in quietly. He blinks at how rapidly her mood has changed.

'Angry? No, Kens – of course not!' he strokes her cheek comfortingly. 'Why would I be angry at you?'

'Because I'm a mess,' she sighs. And she's right – she's a mess, there's something up and she's probably sober enough to want the issue to be left alone, so he decides to change the subject once more.

'Your eyes are beautiful.'

She giggles and blushes, and pulls away from his hand to hide her face in her hands. He chuckles, and settles for stroking her hair, winding a few wavy strands around his fingers.

(If she remembers any of this tomorrow, she's going to castrate him, but he thinks it's worth it.)

She peeks at him from behind her fingers. 'You're the first person to tell me that- outside my family.'

Now it's his turn to blush. 'You serious?'

She removes her hands completely. 'When I first started school – you can't tell anyone this, by the way – not even _Monty_ – but when I was at school, other children used to make fun of me.'

The look on her face pulls at his heart-strings again. 'Because of your eyes?'

She nods. 'They used to call me 'Husky'. Like the dog, because they often have two-toned eyes.'

'I think your eyes are amazing,' he blurts out, and suddenly he finds her gaze locked on his once more. 'I mean, you're extremely beautiful regardless,' he clears his throat. 'but your eyes? They're incredibly special. There's none out there like them. And you know how supposedly, the eyes are the window to the soul? Well, imagine your soul, Kens. Imagine just how unique and beautiful your soul is, if your eyes are that distinctive. That,' he presses a small kiss to her cheek, 'is how brilliant you are.'

She's silent for a moment, those same eyes he's fascinated by displaying a vulnerability that he's not used to associating with her. And stupidly (masochistically) he finds himself hoping with fervor that she remembers these last five minutes when she wakes up.

But then a big, round tear slides down Kensi's cheek, and she tries to pull away from him. It's unsettling – he's seen her cry before, on video in an interrogation – seen how she rapidly she'd turned away from the camera and had swallowed down her sadness before it had spilled out in a tearful mess, pressing at her eyes tightly, almost as if forcing the tears back in.

He respects that it's her way of dealing with sadness, – that crying makes her feel weak and she doesn't want anyone to see her. It's sad, really, because for some reason she's under the allusion that it's not okay to show emotion because it makes you fragile, and no-one has ever told her otherwise.

A pang of guilt shoots through his body. He hadn't ever challenged her way of thinking either.

Feeling as if he's witnessing something intensely private, he backs away a little, turning to sit next to her instead of crouching in front of her.

'My dad was murdered thirteen years ago today.'

Swallowing, he tentatively lifts an arm to wrap around her shoulder. He feels like he's recovering from a sharp punch to the gut, because although he'd heard rumours about her family, he's one of those people that doesn't believe something unless the person it concerns tells him directly. And when it came to family, he himself wasn't particularly forthcoming. Whilst they trusted each other implicitly, the topic of family relationships had been politely pushed to one side.

Now that he's hearing what he's hearing, he realizes that this is probably why this week she'd been so upset. 'I'm so sorry, Kensi.'

She sniffles quietly, but after a few seconds shifts her position and hesitantly rests her head on his shoulder, nose brushing the neck-line of his t-shirt. 'He was the best dad in the world.'

'I'm sorry,' he repeats softly into her hair. 'It's not fair, is it, Sweet? It's just not fair.' And hell, he means it. Because whilst he had spent endless years in the care of a man who had preferred throwing empty bottles at walls to hanging out with his own son, she'd gotten too few years with a parent that had meant the world to her.

Funny, how twisted the world turns out to be.

'He would have liked you. In a 'tough-love' kind of way. He probably would have tried to give you a marine hair-cut in your sleep,' she chuckles sadly. 'But he still would have liked you. He liked _genuine_ people.'

'What was he like?' she stiffens for a moment, and he almost lets out a groan of frustration at his impulsive stupidity. 'I-sorry – I thought maybe you'd like to talk-'

'I remember this one time when I was eight – I had a cold and didn't want to go to school because I felt sick. That's what I told my mother, anyway, and she let me stay at home with my dad. He had the day off, and she went to work.'

'He knew me so well – and asked me why I didn't want to go to school anymore. I just started crying, and I guess between sobs it all came out. How the children laughed at me because of my eyes. And you know what he did?'

'What?' Deeks whispers.

'He took me out – making me promise I wouldn't tell mom – he took me to the local mall, where there was one of those photo booths. And we got in, and he sat me on his lap, and we just took photos of ourselves making all kinds of weird faces,' she smiles, shaking her head. 'I swear, he must've spent about 60 dollars on those little photos,' she continues with her story. 'When we got in the car to go home, we looked closely at every single one. And he'd stop at every photo, and point at me, saying 'look at that beautiful little girl. Look how her eyes shine. Her eyes may be different, but anyone who looks at them sees what an honest, brave little girl she is.''

'Sounds like he was a really great guy.'

His lips quirk up in a tender smile as she nods emphatically against his shoulder. 'The best.'

Pulling back, he tilts her chin up and peers into her eyes, squinting and raising his eye-brows, making a large grin blossom across her face.

'Look at this beautiful woman. Her eyes are bright with life. Her eyes may be different, but she lets me know with just one look when she's happy, angry, playful….hungry,' she swats his arm and he winces, but continues on nonetheless, stroking her jaw, playing with her hair. 'And everyone who knows her – who knows her really well – thinks, 'gee, if only her dad could see her now. If only he could see what an honest, brave, selfless woman she's become. He'd be beyond proud.'

She leans forward, her forehead resting on her chin. He thinks he hears a few sniffles so he rubs her back affectionately. 'That's really sweet, Deeks.'

'You didn't think I had it in me?' He earns himself a tiny headbutt for that one. 'Owww, _jeez, _you just practically dislocated my entire face with your forehead-'

'What are my eyes telling you now?' she pulls upwards. In the half-light (the only light they'd actually bothered to turn on was the kitchen light, which streamed into the lounge) her eyes seemed to glow – as if on fire. Her darker iris was almost black – heavy, sultry black, and the visible pupil in her hazel iris was large and dilated.

In this moment, Kensi looks more kissable than ever, and he's practically trying not to hyperventilate.

He swallows – he knows what she's doing, what she wants – rather, what she _thinks _she wants – because she's still not sober, and although he's almost one hundred percent certain that this isn't the alcohol talking, he has the decency to hold back, ripping his gaze away and lowering his hand so that it rests on her shoulder in a perfectly amicable (and nothing more) way. Heck, it almost kills him – because he's turning down advances from none-other than the woman he lov-has incredibly strong feelings for, and she's sitting there with wild curls and a pout, waiting for him to kiss her.

He takes a deep breath. 'They're telling me….,' smirking, he grabs a blanket off the side of the sofa, 'that you're about ready to crash out on the sofa.' She frowns in some sort of incredibly adorable way that almost has him kissing her once more.

'Wassup? You don't like my awesome eye-reading skills?'

She settles against him, effectively pinning him to the sofa. It appears that even when drunk, Kensi Blye has to have her way – though he has absolutely no problem with this whatsoever, he thinks, as she wraps her slender arms around his waist.

'Your eye-reading skills suck.'

'Your alcohol tolerance level sucks.'

'You're gonna regret that comment in the morning when I'm awake enough to punch you.'

He laughs, and she snuggles closer. 'I think you'll be lucky if you can open your eyes without dying, let alone punch me.'

She lets out a huff, and after a few minutes, her breathing starts to even out. The movement lulls him half to sleep, until she mumbles something.

'You gonna be here when I wake up?' Her tone is hopeful.

Pressing a tender kiss to her forehead, he closes his eyes again before replying. 'M'gonna be here whenever you need me, Sweet.'

'Good.'

She drifts off to sleep not long after. When she wakes up in the morning (complete with an almost paralyzing headache), the first thing she sees are a pair of sky-blue eyes.


End file.
